


The Magic Box

by Taz



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/pseuds/Taz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike seeks Giles' help in obtaining an extremely rare book from a couple of old, gay book dealers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magic Box

Halloween—in the sacred hour between the last school bell and the appearance of tiny fairies and little dragons in the streets, being escorted door to door by their parents—the afternoon sun was falling away to night. The streets were empty. The Magic Box was quiet. All those needful, last minute little purchases—wax fangs, nylon capes and ampoules of ‘blood’—bagged and paid for.

Giles jotted down a number, contemplating the evening with pleasure. He’d make the bank drop in plenty time to get home and have a drink and relax, before changing into his own costume. The folding money was in the bag. He was separating out the golden dollars, irritating coins that fit nowhere, from the quarters when a shadow swooped past the window and hung over the door like a rubber bat on a string. Sacagawea slipped between his fingers, bounced off the counter and rolled across the floor.

“Blast it!” Giles got up and chased after it, yelling, “In or out, Spike! No lurking!”

The bell over the door gave a little tinkle.

The form of a man, consumptively pale in black leather, shimmered inside, shut the door and then opened it again to free the point of a funeral director’s umbrella.

“We’re closed,” Giles said.

“Sign says open.”

“Turn it over and get out.”

The vampire flipped the sign, but refused to take the hint. “Nice decorations,” he said. “Very festive; maybe I’ll buy something.” He began drifting from display to display, fingering garlands of bats and ghosts and witches, and squeezing the squeaky spiders.

Ignoring him, Giles dropped the errant dollar in the bag and started to fill out the deposit form. After a moment, he realized it had had gone suspiciously quiet. Spike wasn’t the sort who took being ignored without a fight. Giles looked up and found him mooning over a display of Gothic whatnots. He was fingering a black lace corset. “Buffy’s not here, you know.”

“I expect she’s getting ready for her party.”

Pathetic vampires left Giles unmoved. “If you’re looking for something to do, go haunt a house.”

“Can’t; it’s Halloween.”

Giles totaled the final sum and gave a silent whistle.

Spike came wandering over. “Good day?”

“Not bad,” Giles admitted. He’d have never seen himself in trade, but he had to admit it was satisfying to know one was making one’s way.

“I heard,” Spike said, “there’s three things you need for a successful business: location, location, location. You got everything here. You’re smack up between a dry cleaner’s and a place that sells toy trains. There’s convenient parking. There’s lots of foot traffic. Lots of mums and kidlets.”

“Since when,” Giles squinted at him, “do you care whether the Magic Box is successful or not?”

“I don’t. Trust me, I don’t. But, you’ve got the best selection of occult supplies in town, and I couldn’t help noticing that new place opening on the corner. Is that really the kind of business you want to encourage in this neighborhood…?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a _book_ store.”

“Yes, but what kind of bookstore?”

“Used books. It’s called Incunabula _._ ”

“See! That’s something you take penicillin for.”

“It means anything printed before 1501.”

Spike shrugged. “Sounds dirty.”

“It means they sell rare books, first editions, limited editions…anyway, Spike, since when do you take an interest in a used book store?”

“No. No reason. I’m not. What makes you think I am”

“I can’t help noticing that you’re avoiding my eye.” Spike continued to avoid his eye. Giles dropped the receipt in the deposit bag and zipped it up. “What is it?”

“I-I…” Spike’s face scrunched up like a child about to burst into tears. “I…need…”

“Spit it out!”

“Help.”

“What?”

“Help.”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Help! I need help! There, I said it. All right?”

“I’m dying…no, let me rephrase that. Spike, what kind of help could I possibly…?” Spike raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t coming out quite right, either. “Just spill it.”

“There’s a book in the window; I need you to go inside and buy it for me.”

“That sounds straightforward; that’s not like you, Spike. I know I’m going to regret asking, but why don’t you break in and steal it?”

“Because, I can’t! The two faggots who run it live over the shop and until the store opens, it’s a _private residence_.”

“So wait. Their Grand Opening’s this Saturday; anyone can go in, then. Even you.”

“Somebody might buy it.”

“My God!” Giles shook his head in disbelief. “It’s that important to you that you’re asking me for a favor.”

“Am not.” Spike kicked the floor. “Oh, all right, I suppose I am.”

“Must be some book,” Giles mused. There was no doubt in his mind that this was costing Spike considerably. The vampire looked as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of holy water and it was burning all the way down. “What’s the title?” Giles—once a scholar, always a scholar—had to ask.

“I wrote it down.” Spike reached into his pocket and whipped out a scrap of folded paper, which he thrust at Giles. “Here. Go. Now.”

“Hold on.” Giles unfolded the paper and read what was written on it. Then, carefully, he looked up under his brows at Spike. It was well, he reflected, that he wasn’t prone to outbursts of thoughtless hilarity, because laughing would have been a huge mistake. “ _Drusilla’s Grove..._?”

“She paid for the printing.”

“By William Pratt?”

“My best work.”

“How many volumes of this book are still in existence?”

“That’s the last one.”

Giles found himself refolding the scrap and putting it in his pocket. He was pretty was sure he hadn’t been hypnotized but, at same time, he couldn’t come up with any other reason that he seemed about to along with this. Just to be sure, he waved the deposit bag at Spike. “I’m going to drop this at the bank, first.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Spike said. “I can wait.”

“What, by the way, do you intend to do with the book when you get it?”

“I’m going to burn it,” Spike said.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those things that seemed like a good idea 10 years ago. Since it still seemed like a good idea this morning...


End file.
